The Legions United in the Loss 4
New prison. New Torture.
The Legions United in the Loss 4
New prison. New Torture.
They were by the Vigil in the Gendarran Fields.
There were many regions between them and the conflict. No, they even had the Norns forming a wall between them and the Dominion.
Yet, the tension was high. The tents had been built, and some Charrs had even elected to construct some temporary housing out of junk and steel. The refugee camp would soon become a shantytown. Yet, no one desired this.
Charrs, local Humans, the Vigil, even the Norns whose territory was but a few leaps away.
The temperature was not clement either, as they were too close to the Shiverpeaks. But no Charr complained, not even the cubs who worked like any adult.
However… The reason Braham was there wasn’t for the refugees. Still, they recognized him for his help when the Charrs had to flee the northern border due to the Molten Alliance.
They nodded at him or saluted him like any officer, with the knowledge he’d stood against Jormag and supported the Commander.
Yet, they eyed the Norn’s presence with curiosity. They watched him and the braves at his side. They were armed, but not enough to oust the Charrs; they also brought supplies from Lion’s Arch. Not a danger, but why was he there?
Braham did not tell them, feigning to bring supplies while he looked around. He watched for any sign, for any cloaked figure, any suspicious Charr. He squinted, frowned, yet smiled when a Cub asked him if their situation would get better.
In the end, Braham dropped his ass on a stack of crates, pouting and huffing.
“Where is she?” he asked, his voice low as he watched the concrete being poured for what would be a foundry. Some Charrs even started a mining operation farther north, ignoring that the ore was of poor quality. But Charrs were used to handle slags and dirt-cheap material.
“I told you to come on your own at night,” said a voice, whispering behind Braham.
He turned his head but froze when he felt something dig into his back. A blade. Not planting through, but a threat.
“H-Hey. I came here. I couldn’t do it at night and without the guards. Knut wouldn’t allow it.”
“Knut… Tsh. He must understand, then.”
“Understand what?”
The voice behind Braham clicked her tongue.
Then, the pressure of the blade lessened, allowing Braham to look behind the crates. He had not noticed her, but the Charr was definitely a VIP. Malice Swordshadow had been the Imperator of the Ash Legion.
However, she looked different with half her face burnt and her shaggy look, as if she’d been put through the wringer. Even her arms and legs were shaky under the cloak.
“Caithe told me you had a message for me,” stated Braham. He turned his head away when Malice’s blade poked his side. “An important message.”
“Lower, Norn. I don’t want to be caught with you,” grunted Malice. Then, after a moment… She paused. “The Pardon. It has to go through. Push him to do it publicly. At Lion’s Arch.”
“What? Why?” asked Braham, ready to turn again, but the blade dug, and he grunted.
“Bangar is preparing for war. He has Smodur in his pocket; he will have the Commander soon.”
“The Commander? Are you serious? He’s the strongest Charr I’ve seen!”
“I am serious,” replied Malice, shuffling and then producing a small paper she put on a crate, on the left of the Norn. “I couldn’t leave this in a dead drop.”
“What is this?” he asked, trying to decipher what was written. But it looked like random scribbling.
“Information. Provide that to a spymaster. Anise or your Inspector. They will understand.”
“I-“ Braham began, before he stopped and looked ahead.
The camp was chaotic, with smoke rising from the people burning material and cooking.
He had to see the Charrs to make do with what they had, even sewing rags together to make new clothes. A new tent? The scent of drying skin was dense, getting to the throat before Braham closed his eyes, controlling his breath. And then turned back.
No more blade pressed against his back, no traces of the burned Malice. Only… Only a paper he held, but as he read through the text, he tried to make sense of it.
It seemed to be a nonsensical tale about a Wolf Commander devouring ice. The Commander was obviously the Pact Commander. But the other parts were about going around Tyria to meet the wind spirit of benevolence or something.
Braham got a headache from it, and the feeling even Raven would be confused by the read.
No… Even Caithe would be over her head. Braham gave up mid-story, at the point when a poisonous viper was hiding under the rocks.
He’d tried to read the meaning of that viper: what or where it could be. It could be anyone or anything, and if Malice meant it, there was a hint somewhere.
It would have been better if he had offered his own insights. Instead, he crumbled the paper and stuffed it into his pocket. His braves perked up, their eyes raising and their expressions hardening while Braham beckoned them to follow.
They followed him, becoming his shadow as they watched around, as if waiting for an order to attack.
“Where are we going?” asked one brave.
“We’ll return to Lion’s Arch. I need to see someone at Divinity’s Reach.”
“What should we say to Knut?”
The question made Braham pause for a moment, then… He grimaced. Maybe it was better to go with his gut for that answer.
“Tell him to keep watch for any Charr attacks at the border. To listen to the rumors.”
“That’s… Are you sure that’s your message?”
“I’m not sure at all.”
“Something happened?”
“Many things,” groaned Braham, deflecting their questions.
Out of the few he knew, he only had Marjory and Caithe who could understand Malice’s words. Marjory was his best option, and she was at Divinity’s Reach. It was a shame to disturb her and Kasmeer, but… They were smart.
She might help root out the spies, too. Yet, Braham could only feel that trouble was brewing on the horizon, and not only from the East.
-
“Here. Have some water.”
“Thank you, Rytlock,” grunted the Commander.
Leaning against a wall, he appreciated the broken cup of water. It tasted acrid, with a chemical aftertaste. But it was much better than being dehydrated.
Even if drinking the cold liquid was… Like a drill piercing his teeth and tongue. Still, he drank, felt the needles in his throat before he handed the cup back and wiped his mouth.
“How is it?”
Rytlock’s face scrunched up, his head tilting.
“Well…” he mumbled, looking at the Commander’s back. “Not pretty.”
“Not pretty how?”
An awkward silence fell as Rytlock stepped around. The Commander turned and twisted to follow the former Tribune as he observed his ass.
“Not wounded, but it looks… Impressive.”
“You’re helpful, Rytlock,” replied the Commander, his tone sarcastic, while the other Charr raised his paws defensively.
“I’m not a healer! And I don’t know if that’s natural or not.”
“Natural.”
Oh, the Commander scoffed and pressed his head against the stone.
It felt warm against the pressure, like something that’d been warmped up under the sun. But it was not. The stone was burning hot; it was scalding to the touch once you pressed the palms and pads against it.
But through the fur, it was only hot. Soothing hot for the Commander as he sighed and heard the lashes in the distance.
“Get away. The break is over,” said the Commander, in a sigh, before he heard Rytlock stomping away. He heard the older Tribune scamper, his shaved neck and head as ridiculous as ever. Same for that fluffy Tribune posterior with the number 75 on it.
“No need to think. Fear is poison.”
The Commander sighed, pressing his head against the stone, feeling the stubs press against it. They’d hardened, but not enough for him to be inured. And then… As he turned left, he saw one enormous ice shard.
It was odd to see the ice so deep into the tunnels, so close to the depths, in a place that was constantly warm to the point of being exhausting and draining.
Each breath was like breathing from a fire, and the lungs burned if you were too far from a shard of ice.
It forced the Charrs to huddle around them, to stick to the ice.
But the Commander? He didn’t have to think twice to know it had to be Jormag’s ice. The heaviness, the exhaustion weighing his every action? It had to come from it, from the whispers, the constant assault on his mind.
And so… The Commander groaned, not daring to move… Not even as he heard the steps behind and then… The sounds of trousers dropping.
He didn’t close his eyes; he merely eyed behind him to see another Soldier from the Dominion. Armored to a fault, but once the codpiece was out… With a massive cock. A purple cock that… Penetrated him with ease.
It went in, it burned in…. But it felt good.
Good as the whispers vanished. They were eased, and the weariness that had plagued his thoughts was gone. He had that shaft go between his buns, nudging his entrance and then penetrating it. No hurt, no pain… Only a pleasure as the Charr inside him thrust and pumped.
He felt it, the presence against his prostate. It nudged his glans, yet the sensation was not as intense or pleasing, not as memorable.
It was good. But only that. Good. Satisfying, but not enough to make him cry, beg, or want more. No, he was perhaps numbed to the feeling while his ass was fucked, his buttcheeks clapped, and his head pressed against the stone wall while the Charr taking him growled and grunted.
The movements were quick, intense, growing faster. And soon… Well, it was over.
The Guard huffed, his hips locked, and something cold shot inside the Commander’s asshole, making it tingle a bit before it dripped from his gaping sphincter, onto his taint, onto the metal ring cinched around his scrotum… Onto his swollen testicles, and then down.
Down into the puddle of cum that had been between his legs since the break started.
“That was good, betrayer,” said the Guard, his voice deep before he grabbed the Commander’s tail, yanked on it… And then planted the tip inside his asshole.
Well. Not exactly the tip, but the toy fitted at the end. A wide buttplug, which tingled and hurt when it went inside. Cold like ice, too.
Yet, once it was inside and secure, the Commander was unable to pull it out by moving his tail… But… Would he really pull that toy out? That toy keeping all that cum inside?
He grunted, and then he was grabbed by the scruff before the leather muzzle was pressed against his face. “Time to work, slave.”
The voice was rough, mocking. After putting the muzzle on, the Guard unlocked the Commander’s legs and arms. Then, like a pet on a leash, they walked through the tunnels.
Supposedly, it was an old mine that had been abandoned due to the heat and the danger inside.
But thanks to the shards, it was bearable. Terrible, enough for the workers’ fur to be matted with sweat. But bearable as he was, he was finally forced out of the auxiliary galleries and back to the main tunnel.
They followed a rail leading to a mine cart a few Charrs dragged. Slaves. With their buttcheeks branded. As soon as the Commander appeared, their eyes went on him, and the movements slowed down. Then stopped. Those Charrs took the opportunity to catch their breath while the Guard grabbed another set of chains. He attached them to the Commander’s testicles. Not by wrapping around it but by hooking it to the ring cinched around them… The same ring securing the Commander’s chastity cage, fashioned to resemble a Charr’s face.
A chastity cage with an open mouth and fangs digging into his glans, exposing it to the cold air… Same as his urethra… Urethra, which was feeling the waft coming and going through the tunnel, making the Charr huff and grunt.
Then, once the chain was secured, the Commander had to take one step.
He huffed, he grunted, he felt the bite. He felt the pressure, the squeeze, the pain. Then, he received another chain, which he held on while he pulled… Soon to be followed by the other Charrs as the whip sang and made their blood run cold.
And it was back… Pulling the cart. The routine.
Morning, they would be woken up and instantly strapped to the cart. Then it would be time for a break, with the Commander being splashed with water before he was attached to a breeding post. After that, he’d return to work.
A routine, a dull routine that was made to break their will, to make them willing and accepting of their purpose.
To make them collaborate.
With a glance over his shoulder, the Commander saw the angry Charrs behind, glaring at his back, at his plugged posterior, as the cum dripped from the entrance due to the constant motion. They looked at the precum dripping behind, inhaled the perfume.
23, 89, 92.
One older, an officer from the Iron Legion. Two newcomers from the Flame Legion.
The others were hidden behind, but they glared daggers like the older Charr. As for the two newcomers, they looked at him with sympathy.
Yet, they were not aware of the circumstances under which they’d been added to the group.
Their predecessors?
Oh. They forced themselves on the Commander during one of the short pauses allowed, during which the cart was emptied. They fucked him; they stuffed his ass; use their fists while condemning him.
He would have fought if not for the Guards helping them… And then, they were allowed to step away, to join the Dominion, their eyes blue and their hearts cold.
He did not pity them or what happened to them, if they were really into the Dominion or culled. Either way, the Commander returned to look ahead…
To face the tunnels while more Charrs were around. A majority of guards, a minority of other Charrs working by implanting ice shards along the walls.
They dug into the stone, making small indentations where they inserted the crystals.
Somehow, in a few days, the ice would have settled and grown over the surface. For what purpose? Making the mine more comfortable made little sense, and Bangar wasn’t one to make them do something without an idea behind his head.
Finally, the frost on the walls crept everywhere, and the air became glacial before they were outside, with the sunrays blinding the Commander.
He stopped at the depot, his testicles hurting and aching, his palms becoming rigid from the calluses on them.
Other Charrs, slaves just as naked, rushed to empty the cart onto the conveyor belts. Once the stone ascended over the cliffs, it would be processed in one of the many refineries spewing smoke clouds above the mine.
That wasn’t his duty… He only had to wait until everything was discharged, and then he would have to turn around and push with the other Charrs around.
It was worse.
When pulling, he had to endure the drag on his testicles, the tug, the pain.
But when pushing, he had to be close to the other Charrs. Some would hit, bite, and take the opportunity to make him stumble.
He wouldn’t, but the hits on his legs were so obvious. Yet the Guard watching them did nothing. He did not mind the insults, the remarks, the criticisms from the Slaves.
“You’re a disgrace.” “You let the Dominion use you.” “Where’s your pride?”
The new arrivals, however, were quick to jump to his side to defend him.
Only for a moment, only for a few days before they were affected too. Before their hatred towards Bangar, the Dominion, was twisted against him. Before the constant propaganda from the speakers attached to the walls got to them.
Then what? It was over, the anger would remain, the hatred… And at the center would be the Commander, sighing… Enduring, and working.
Working until his body was battered.
Yet, despite feeling weaker… He remained muscular. The constant exercise kept him in rather good shape. And yet… He couldn’t ignore it.
He couldn’t ignore the changes, not when the work was done, and they were all huddled in a newly dug ‘dormitory’ inside the mines.
The ice shards inserted in the walls lowered the temperature. Their presence was so omnipresent, they made the Charrs freeze their balls off, shudder, and huddle together in reflex. Something even the Commander was a victim of. His muzzle off, he settled by two familiar faces.
Rytlock looked rather fine. He was working in the depths, digging up ore before it was loaded into the carts. He was sweaty and reeked, as expected.
Efram?
He was different. He was assigned to the ice shard installation. He had to carve the holes and insert the ice. The effects were visible, as even his hands didn’t glow anymore.
He was even colder to the touch, and well… Much like the Commander, he, too, had a cage. But his was different. Much different as he tried again to shake his hips.
“Do you need help?” asked the Commander, stretching his legs once the chains and bars were off. He even scratched his neck as he sat down, watching Efram’s head go low.
“I… I’m unsure it would work, Commander,” commented Efram, looking at the other Charrs looking back… And then at the guards at the door.
“It can. We just need someone to cover,” said the Commander, turning to Rytlock, seeing him and his erection… Seeing his cock that was hard, purple, but… Different? Smaller?
“Fine,” Rytlock groaned, moving and scooting his butt until he was between the Guards and Efram. “Because you were nice.”
Well. It wasn’t niceties. But the Commander wouldn’t dare to state the truth out loud as he leaned and approached Efram’s groin.
The scent was strange, icy. Wrong. But the Commander wasn’t one to judge, as he had his warm breath against Efram’s gaping urethra. Against the orifice that was outstretched, thanks to the metal cage digging into the flesh. However, as he looked inside… He saw the faint glimmer. The… A purposefully inserted shard made to torment Efram.
And then, the Commander’s fingers went under Efram’s heavy testicles. They were… Definitely bigger, like oranges. Worse, as he lifted them, he found them heavier than before. And colder. So cold compared to how hot Efram’s body was.
“Are you okay, Efram?”
“Not really. But no one is,” replied the Flame Legion Imperator.
He always said everyone else was getting it worse.
But in his case? There was direct brutality targeted at him from the Guards.
The Commander’s digits went behind the testicles, circling the taint. He pressed against the flesh, circling the little bump while Efram’s breath went higher.
He gasped, closed his eyes, planted his claws in the stone. And then, the legs quivered. He wasn’t cumming, but the reflex to close his thighs was there while the Commander’s breath was against his cock, observing that shard.
Observing that tiny rod of ice inserted deep into Efram’s urethra, checking if it moved. Barely.
So, he circled faster, using his other hand to stroke the testicles while he had his elbows on the cold stone. He was doing two things at once, trying to coax something out of Efram. A cumshot… Even urine could work, technically, though the Commander would rather not.
Efram’s hips trembled, his ass bouncing on the stone.
He was definitely trying to help, but his wiggling forced the Commander to retract his head a little, to be careful while the caged Shaman huffed and panted.
“Could you be louder?” grunted Rytlock, definitely looking at them after he’d checked over his shoulder. If he was angry, it was more likely from that erection between his legs. He was a male, too. One with needs.
One the Commander might have poked fun at if he wasn’t trying to help Efram. And then… He sighed.
“Efram. Do you trust me?”
“Not when you ask me that way,” huffed Efram, looking away. “But do… What you must.”
That was all the Commander had to do as he put his finger inside his mouth. He slobbered on it until it was entirely coated. And then, he slipped it under Efram’s nutsack, beyond that taint. And right against that pucker, not without spreading some saliva on his fuzzy cheeks.
“W-Weird,” groaned Efram, closing his eyes.
“The first time with a partner is. Better than...”
The Commander stopped. Efram knew and nodded. He resumed. He smeared his saliva onto his fingers, then onto that butthole. He touched, prodded, and explored. The hole was tight, so tight. No doubt Efram clenched in reflex. Fear.
So, the Commander sucked his fingers again to get them lubricated.
“You need to relax, Efram.”
“I’m doing that.”
“You’re doing that like a cub about to shoot a rifle for the first time,” replied the Commander, again smearing saliva onto that entrance. And then… Poking against it.
“Like a cub about to become a sire,” added Rytlock.
“You don’t help,” groaned Efram with his expression tense.
But the finger continued to push and prod.
The Shaman shuddered, trembled. And then, the finger was in… He grunted, loud enough before he covered his mouth. Discretion? Everyone could see what was happening, and maybe had questions.
Some even scooted around, bringing along a cover, though with that growing circle, the Guards were bound to come.
“What is he doing?” “Commander? Are you doing what I think?”
“Bug off,” grunted Rytlock, though his cock was hard.
Hard as he watched the Commander bending over. That asshole was still plugged with his tail-end. Meanwhile, the one-eyed Charr had his mouth near Efram’s cock. His index was pumping in and out of Efram’s hole, exploring the entrance.
He poked at it… And then, after a moment of expectation… The Shaman moaned.
Efram turned his head away. But the shard had moved, and precum oozed out of the entrance.
The Commander would have been proud… But he kept nudging that spot, poking at it. Efram was sensitive. Quite so… And soon, the Shard budged.
The Commander couldn’t move it with his own mouth, couldn’t worship the Shaman’s cock. But he offered another source of pleasure by giving the right testicle, with the thinned fur, a long lick. One that pulled on the fur and made the Shaman tremble.
One terribly long lick that made Efram shudder and moan before the shard moved further. No, before he humped again, but with the Commander’s finger deep inside his butthole.
“Hhh… Ke-Keep doing that,” moaned Efram, his voice plaintive.
He was definitely getting closer… Closer to an orgasm. His voice was getting higher, so much higher… His breathing was ragged, his movements wild.
“You’re too loud,” grunted Rytlock.
But they were not done. Hence, the Commander moved his mouth away from the balls to suck two fingers from his other hand… And planted them into Efram’s butthole.
The Shaman’s legs kicked, and he narrowly dropped… But he cried, his body shuddering while his groin clenched and his testicles were pulled higher… And then…
A roar, a cry, the shard was out. Cum had pushed it out, lukewarm cum. But with three dense cumshots, the shard was dislodged and landed on the ground, in a puddle of Charr spunk…
Satisfied, the Commander sighed and pulled his fingers out.
“Better, Efram?” he asked, his face burning and sweaty.
“Much… better,” added Efram, his expression tired. His eyes were half-closed, and sweat dripped over his face. He looked like he was about to pass out. But he raised a thumb.
“Good. Then it is my turn to-“ began Rytlock, before he heard a cough and looked behind.
A face. It was practically a copy of Rytlock’s face, but way more smug.
“If you’ve got time to help with that Flame Legion runt, Commander. Could you help me?” asked Ryland, clutching his codpiece. “Unless you prefer Runtlock?”
-
Passing through an Asura Gate is always an experience.
The shimmer of magic, the sensation of your entire skin tickling. It was said that the first generations were worse… And some had errors. Even with the improvement, it was a pain to drag the Dolyaks through the gates.
Even if it was a necessity to carry crates of greens.
Javi knew that too well.
He was used to this, a grocer who’d been selling from one corner of Tyria to the other.
However, delivering vegetables to the Black Citadel was a head-scratcher after the War. With one pen, he tickled his temple while he glanced around, searching for a familiar face.
He used to go through the gates, follow the scaffolding, and then down to the Factorium north. But that wasn’t possible anymore: a story about rebel spies trying to set up bombs and spread pro-war tracts; the Asura Gate had been moved right in front of the Imperator’s Core; Charrs flanked every visitor’s movements with scrutiny.
Much like the one standing by the Gate, raising a clipboard towards the Human.
“Declination and purpose?” asked the helmeted Charr, his voice toneless.
“Javi. Grocery Delivery. All in my name,” said the Human, still looking around. “Where is Ratag?”
“Ratag?” asked the Soldier, his head raising. “I don’t know that name.”
“Small Charr. Big ram horns. Talking with a slur from a head wound. He was my reseller.”
“Nothing.”
Javi’s shoulders sank. Still, he grabbed the Dolyaks’ leashes, making them advance.
He walked ahead, towards the Core, then turned right. That’s when he noticed a familiar merchant, an Asura, standing by a stack of crates and her dozen Golems.
They were at rest, waiting for orders, while naked Charrs were coming and going. Naked, except for the blue collars they had around their necks. They carried her crates while a Soldier watched the line of workers carrying the heavy-duty equipment.
“Ceode,” said Javi, raising his hand to get the Asura’s attention as she was still typing on her tablet. “Have you seen Ratag?”
“No,” she replied, barely eyeing the tablet. “I have not seen him. Or the others.”
Always so cold. Always so direct. But when there were issues with one of his Dolyaks, the Asura had been quick to offer the help of one of her golems.
All before the War.
“Oh… Okay,” mumbled Javi, scratching his neck. “Isn’t it weird?”
“Weird?” asked Ceode, her tone stern but not critical. “Define weird.”
“The Charrs. Doesn’t it bother you?” asked Javi.
Sure enough, he could barely look away from the Charrs working. It wasn’t the only line of naked Charrs coming and going. They were the only things that seemed to go through the perimeter, and the Guards often stopped them to check whatever crates they carried.
Then, Javi’s eyes returned to the Asura, to see that she had peeled her face off the tablet.
“This is not weird. This is unethical,” she commented before she looked around. “And inefficient. You’d better not ask more about this.”
“Why?” asked Javi, lowering his voice, in the confidence.
“A few merchants lost their access to the Gate. They are afraid.”
“Afraid of what?” asked the Human, his brows knitting.
“We don’t know. But I heard rumors of a pardon. Maybe… No. That’s stupid.”
“Ceode. You’re an Asura. You’re probably smarter than tens of me. What could be stupid coming out of your mouth?”
Ceode scoffed. But she smiled, the corner of her mouth curled while she turned to the line of Charr slaves… And then stepped behind her golems.
“What’s the frequency of your deliveries?”
“Frequ-… Five times per week?”
“And what was the frequency before the war?”
“Two, at most?” replied Javi, unsure as he watched his Dolyaks.
“Did you change the volume?”
“I have… I have more requests for beans than usual. And roots. Why?”
“Did someone have strange requests for you?”
“Cereals? Sometimes. But I gave them the name of Gurog for that.”
“Then… That’s it.”
Javi blinked while Ceode shook her head, making him worry as she turned to the Golems. The crates she’d delivered were off, and now she had to wait in her spot to get paid.
“What’s that? What do you mean, that’s it?”
“Javi. War is coming.”
“B-But… War en-“
“Shh.”
Ceode shushed him like a child. But he followed the order, blinking as he finally heard boots stomping behind him.
He turned his head, seeing Charrs bee-lining for him. No Ratag, but three soldiers.
“Are you Javi?” asked the one at the front, with many medals attached to his chest plate.
“Yes, that’s me,” replied the Human, nodding and looking at Ceode, who’d scooted away.
Javi turned back to the Guards and tilted left to see the six naked Charrs, males and females, waiting for orders.
“You’re in charge of a delivery for Ratag Grindblade? We’ll handle it.”
“Wait. Where’s Ratag?” asked Javi, only to see a purse being lifted towards him, full of coins.
“Ratag Grindblade is no longer your reseller. We will handle the exchanges directly.”
“Directly?” asked Javi, before he watched the naked Charrs approach the Dolyaks, unlocking the bags. “Hey! I haven’t accepted it yet. Tell your slaves to stop.”
“Indentured workers,” corrected the Officer, making the slaves stop and step back. Then, the helmeted Charr was back to Javi. “We value your relationship with the Black Citadel. We would like you to be promoted to an official role in our supply line.”
Javi froze. His eyes widened as he looked around.
He had already been approached by Charrs wanting his help.
Well, many refugees want to work for him, proposing to carry bags instead of Dolyaks for a coin or two. But this was different.
This reeked of official, this reeked of… Ties.
“Huh… O-Official? You’re not serious?” said Javi, chuckling nervously.
They looked serious. Not a Charr chuckled or huffed. They were impermeable. Stone cold. They waited, facing the Human who looked nervous and sweating… And visibly not feeling so well as he looked back over his shoulder.
“I- I guess I cannot refuse? Since Ratag isn’t here anymore?”
“If you refuse, we’ll assume you refuse to help the Dominion bring peace to the Charr territories. You will be blacklisted from the Citadel.”
“Oh. That’s… that’s bad.”
Not so many merchants were allowed in the Citadel, after all.
Being blacklisted? It was comparable to being kicked away from the greatest party on Tyria. No access to a rebuilt market, no way to establish a long-lasting relationship with the Charrs. Many a merchant would pay to access the Black Citadel and beyond…
Plus, if it were truly possible to extend the Asura Gates to the Blood Legion territory.
“I guess it’s better if I accept,” said Javi, shrugging his worries away. “How does it go?”
He asked, yet the answer came from the Guard, turning to his fellows. The naked slaves ran to the Dolyaks, unloading the crates and taking them away.
Then, the Officer turned to Javi while he pulled something from his pocket.
For a second, the Human feared it could be a weapon, a blade. Maybe it was all a test. He braced for impact. One that never came.
Instead, as he reopened his eyes, he saw a sparkling blue gem dangling from a string.
“What is this?”
“A sign you volunteered to help the Dominion. Your willingness is rewarded,” said the Charr, lowering the gem for Javi to take it. It looked like a necklace, one he put on easily before he felt the chill gem press against his skin.
“That’s it?” he asked.
“This is all. We will soon announce you have become one of our direct interlocutors. We hope this will help you while trading with the Dominion.”
“H-Help?” scoffed Javi, feeling a chill down his back. “If it doesn’t help, I don’t know what could.”
He felt almost relieved. They wanted him to help.
He didn’t have to worry. He didn’t have to fear. He didn’t have to oppose them.
A thoughtful echo of his mind as he watched the Charr slaves carry the crates. It was a shame he lost a friend in the process, but… Working with the Charrs? Representing them? Even Evon would grow jealous of it.
-
“Fuck…”
The Commander groaned as he reopened his eye.
The cave was cold enough that his breath condensed into a cloud of steam. Everything had a blue tinge brought by the ice shards. He looked around, at the piles of Charrs huddled together, hugging, pressed. Next… The backs of the Guards standing at the entrance of the ‘dormitory’, keeping watch.
From so far, they looked like statues, and only the condensed breathing showed they were alive. It would be easy to attack them from the back. Easy. And foolish.
He huffed and crawled closer to Efram. The Flame Legion Imperator was asleep, his hands still cold. The one-eyed Charr shook his Friend’s shoulder, watched the curled-up Charr swat his hand away, and again until he grunted.
“What… Commander?” grunted Efram.
“Efram. I need your help this time,” said the Commander, his voice terse.
“Again?”
“Again,” repeated the Commander, his face like a mask. But his eye… It glimmered with need. With desires. “Can’t do. Try Rytlock.”
“I was with Rytlock. But he’s not there,” replied the Commander.
But no, Efram had rolled back, and his breathing had returned to a calm baseline. Sure enough, Efram wasn’t doing the most tiring work in the mine at all. The truth was, his work was physically easy. But being in contact with Jormag’s ice all day must be exhausting. So exhausting, the Commander instantly gave up and sat on his butt, looking around.
His tail swept the ground while he tried to see where Rytlock could be.
Some Charrs were cuddling, some Charrs were merely pressed together to keep warm. Others were sticking to walls, sleeping while sitting.
Rytlock? He’d been inside the Commander, fucking the little spoon til they were too tired. And now? The Commander felt it.
He felt it so much.
His asshole craved touch. His asshole was so warm, so… Needy. And his balls, they were so heavy. They were bigger than before; they felt cold to the touch and burning when he was excited. An ambivalent sensation that weighed on his mind as he grumbled and tried to roll down… But sleep wouldn’t come.
Spending his time scratching his butthole, prodding it without any orgasm was far from satisfying the Commander as his cock continued to drip inside his cage. Then… He sighed, sat up again, and watched.
The same Guards, the same pile. Rytlock had to be elsewhere.
So, the Commander stood up and approached the entrance. It was cold, so cold he shuddered. But it mattered little as he approached the Guards and cleared his throat.
“Ahem.”
“Another turn, then?”
The question surprised the Commander, making his right eyebrow lift. He opened his mouth, about to ask. Then he grunted. “Yes.”
One Guard turned to his partner. They exchanged a nod, then a mere sign: “Follow.”
The Commander followed. His tail between his legs, he left the chamber and walked through the mine tunnels. The icy crystals were everywhere, and frost was growing on most surfaces. But strangely, it didn’t… Hurt as much.
Well, at those temperatures, the Commander ought to have expected to get frostbite over time. But though the ice bit through, he wasn’t hurt. He could coin it on Jormag’s influence, but why spare him, and…
“Where are we going?” asked the Commander.
They were definitely not going for the depths nor for the exit.
Only a handful of Charrs were allowed to go to the tunnels adjacent to the mine, where the ice was growing faster than usual. A strange place, the Charr discovered.
It was more settled, too. The stone ceiling was reinforced with steel beams. Here, it was unlikely that the tunnels would collapse.
But it was mazelike.
So chaotic… And the air was… Funky.
Just like the smell inside the prison, but worse. Way worse, as the Guard stopped and crossed his arms near a door.
“Inside.”
The Commander wanted to stop and ask questions, but the nameless Charr had his eyes on him. The Commander was gauged. So, he had to play the role. Better go along than to get shaved or have his nails clipped.
He stepped inside and found… Something looking like the refinery. A research bunker, filled with that blue substance they’d found all around the refinery and beyond.
They called it Jormag Juice…
Why and how was it brought here? It should only exist around Jormag’s influence. They were too far south for it. Yet, beyond the question of how the Jormag Juice, the Commander was… Elated. Knowledge, intel. The desks were covered with papers, with internal documents. But as the Commander looked over his shoulder, he saw the Guard watching over him.
So he continued to walk. Until… He heard it. A moan. A groan.
“Hrmph… That’s it!” grunted a familiar voice. Enough for the Commander to growl in petto.
So… That was it? Ryland was waiting for him?
No. Ryland was chuckling. The Commander slowed, his paws drifting on the frozen steel. He was slow, discreet, steady when he approached the source of that sound.
Next, he saw it. Ryland. Hulking, with his fur getting whiter tones over time. He was also much bigger now, as if all that presence with Jormag had empowered him.
And yet, the Charr was buttnaked, thrusting, and humping something.
“Rust?!” grunted the Commander as he ducked left, hiding behind a support beam. That way, he was both out of sight of the Guard and Ryland. A perfect hiding spot to see what was happening.
To see… Ryland and Rytlock were both leaning over a container, perhaps an old water barrel.
But it was definitely the two. He’d seen their furs, smelled them enough to know it was the two. And seen their armors well enough.
The funky smell definitely came from Rytlock’s posterior; something white and bluish dripped from between the Charr’s legs as he was bent over the barrel.
“That’s it… Do it for me, Rytlock. Prove to me you are worthy to be my sire!”
Suddenly, the scene clicked in the Commander’s mind.
Rytlock was in his armor except for his codpiece and loincloth, getting fucked in the ass. The Charr groaned and moaned while his cock was firmly held by Ryland, who stroked him.
And Rytlock groaned with pleasure, moaning like… Like the Commander would have done on that occasion.
When… When did it start?
How? And… Why? So many questions ran through the Commander’s mind as he peered behind the pillars to see Ryland’s blue eyes glancing at him… And yet, with one finger going to his mouth in an unequivocal sign: silence.
He wanted him to be silent, but for what?
“Hhh… It’s… It’s enough, Ryland! That’s… That’s too much! I’m full!”
“Come now… A real sire can endure more. Unless Jormag has already taken your Charrhood?”
“N-No!” roared Rytlock, before his voice broke into a mewl… A pathetic mewl while his body shuddered and the scent of cum filled the air.
Was he really cumming?
He? Rytlock? Rytlock, who always refused bottoming, like he couldn’t take it? Who acted like he wasn’t into this at first?
Yet, the Commander watched this. Watched his partner in crime, watched that Charr he’d spent so many times with. And he had a pang of shame, of envy, as much as of lust.
More so as he felt one droplet drip from his cage onto the ground, making his face burn as he hid away… And heard the cries.
“Oh yeah! So what’s about your nuts, Rytlock? What’s happening to them? And your cock? It’s smaller, isn’t it?”
“N-No!”
The Commander covered his mouth.
Yet, he could confirm… He could confirm that every Slave was changing; their eyes were going blue, their bodies weakened, while their libido grew like their genitals, up to a limit.
But getting smaller? That was a first, as the Commander tried to kneel instead of leaning against the pillar. But as soon as he spread his cheeks, he grunted.
“Wh-What was that?”
“Probably a Guard fucking a slave,” replied Ryland, grunting and then delivering a heavy smack on Rytlock’s buttcheeks. “Tighter! Even your whore is tighter than you.”
“Th- He is not a Whore,” grunted Rytlock, his head pushed down.
“Oh yeah? Do you want to hear what that slut said to me on the stage? When I fucked while you watched? Or should I recount how many times you watched that Fire Shaman fuck that cunt? It’s sweet, isn’t it? Best cunt from the Legions. After Smodur, but he doesn’t count.”
Well, the Commander shouldn’t have appreciated the comment. It was degrading and demeaning. But his body replied differently as his buttcheeks clenched and so did his rim, closing and opening… Winking while the sphincter began to burn. To itch.
An itch he wanted to ignore, desired to forego. But… An index finger found its way there.
The Commander grunted, his forehead, and stubs pressed against the frost-covered pillar.
And this time, that felt good. Good when his anus sucked on his fingers.
“Yes. I thought so. But you were not the first to breed that Bitch. Same for Crecia, hmm?”
Ryland’s question was met with a muffled cry from Rytlock. And as the Commander looked over, he saw that Ryland had his hand over Rytlock’s mouth, overpowering him so easily. One of the Legion’s best fighters, overpowered like a mere female in heat.
And even the smell from there… Rytlock was again cumming?
He came, groaned… And then, Ryland released his mouth, just to have his head closer to listen to his Sire’s words.
“Admit it. Runtlock. Bangar was right with that name. That’s how it is. A runt. But I am the better version. Do you feel it? That’s a true Charrhood.”
Now, Ryland was gloating.
But… he wasn’t wrong. His Charrhood was massive. Just so massive. And as the Commander exhaled and thought about it, he felt it. No, remembered the soft spines pressing inside his butthole, tugging on his sphincter.
His fingers were but fingers, but merely imagining that cock plunging in his depths was enough to make him shudder and shoot a jet of precum on the pillar. Was he truly masturbating to the two fucking one another, to the incestuous relationship?
Yes.
He was. And it felt good as he bit his lower lip while inserting a second, then a third finger. His rim ached so much, and the touch was akin to a balm. It soothed the worries, the troubles. It erased the craving, leaving behind satisfaction as his testicles warmed up, and so did his groin.
Meanwhile, Ryland continued to fuck Rytlock, his balls hitting the plump buttcheeks. Was… How could a Charr have such stamina to fuck endlessly?
Yet, it happened. Rytlock’s moans were louder by the second, with the Charr looking exhausted and yet cumming. Cumming inside that barrel, with his own bluish semen filling it.
“Yes… That’s it. Fill it, Runtlock. That’s what you can do best. No need to fuck anyone. Your juice will be enough,” said Ryland, biting his Sire’s ear.
There was an angry whisper, but the Commander couldn’t hear it, too focused on… The masturbation. On pumping his fingers in and out, pulling on the squelching sphincter, tugging on the rim until it protruded a bit before he inserted it again.
“A break? No… There’s no break. That’s you who came to me, Runtlock. But you’ll have a refill,” said Ryland as he stopped his humping and… Pulled out.
Pulled out heavily while winking in the Commander’s direction. He was… Bigger. His cock was so big that it was definitely akin to a forearm now. The veins were obvious, and the purple coloration was more intense.
Likewise, he left a trail of cum behind as he stepped away. Meanwhile, Rytlock was still bending over the barrel. He weakly closed his legs. He had a bad posture, though, so the flood of cum didn’t stop from flowing out.
It was like a jet, like a badly plugged pipe. It sprayed out loudly, landing on the floor while Rytlock moaned and groaned loudly, perhaps mumbling about the torture and how he wanted it to stop.
But it didn’t stop. And the Commander watched, like a pervert. Like a deviant… And it was exciting. Yet, daunting. Both, perhaps?
He shouldn’t have enjoyed the sight, shouldn’t have enjoyed seeing Rytlock bending over. He shouldn’t have enjoyed it to the point of masturbating to it, nudging his prostate while watching that cum spout from that gaping asshole. Yet he shuddered. He smiled. He panted.
How much did Ryland pump inside? How… Swollen Rytlock had been? He couldn’t see him properly because of the support pillar on the way and Rytlock’s armor covering that belly. But the way Rytlock huffed and groaned, while the jet variegated in strength and potency, indicated it’d been… A lot.
A lot. Steam arose from the cum puddle. More was pumped out, following Rytlock’s grunts. It was… Something else. Something excited as the Commander’s fingers pressed further, touched, and massaged his prostate.
He had to squat in a compromising position, his fingers inserted deep inside his ass while he was ‘squirting’ on the cold floor.
If anyone saw it, it’d be obvious, and if it was a guard. But then… The pleasure was there. Rytlock’s groans were there. The Commander bit his lower lip while his fingers pumped in and out…
While his cock strained against the small cage, against the cold metal… And it felt.
“It feels good. Doesn’t it?”
The Commander nodded internally.
That felt good. That felt rewarding. That felt as if he was approaching the orgasm he’d been craving for the last few hours. He huffed, his ears dropped while his nostrils flared, and he heard the stomp. Then… The fight.
He opened his eyes to see Rytlock being forced against the barrel, but this time, his body and erection facing Ryland’s.
The two Charrs were… Were almost together, their Charrhood pressing together, and Ryland was right. Rytlock was definitely smaller compared to Ryland, and then… There were the whispers.
“So small, Runtlock. You should breed your bitch, or you’ll lose him to me.”
“The Commander isn’t… Like that,” groaned Rytlock.
Ryland’s cold chuckle was an admission, a critique. A disregard for Rytlock’s wishes while he grabbed his sire’s erection, stroked it while his thumb danced on the end, brushing it.
Rytlock shuddered and cried… But the effect was there as Rytlock’s voice broke, and Ryland presented something to the tip. A… Shard?
“Ry-Ryland,” pleaded Rytlock in a grunt, his eyes half-closed. “I can’t… Much more.”
“Sure, you can. You’re almost full,” said Ryland, smacking Rytlock’s ballsack. The former Tribune roared and cried, his voice breaking into low moans while his erection strained and sprayed precum on Ryland’s hand.
A hand that soon approached the shard into Rytlock’s cock, into the urethra before it slipped it inside… Down along the length.
“Down we go. The Dominion needs you to be a good factory,” said Ryland, his voice cold… And tense. And joyful as Rytlock broke into a pathetic mewl.
The one the Commander had been fancying, had been desiring, had been yearning for was… “Weak.”
Weak as he collapsed against the barrel, thrusting and humping the air while Ryland chuckled and stroked himself. He stroked himself and pressed, kept, his cock against Rytlock in a taunt. He disregarded the old Charr as he licked his lips… And turned towards the Commander.
“You shouldn’t be against that, Charr. That’s your few chances to… Blow your load before it’s over,” said Ryland, though it was obvious he was speaking to the Commander.
What… Would be over? The thought ran through the Commander’s mind like a cruel, cold spear through his thoughts. Then, he pumped his fingers deeper; he couldn’t stop it.
His mind was of many parts, two at odds, two fighting over what to do: leave or stay; keep playing or end this farce; face Ryland or give in.
The Commander always thought he’d be of the first, of the strong mind.
But as he squeezed his prostate, as he pressed on the organ, his legs weakly shuddered. He couldn’t stop. He had to keep pushing; he had to keep playing.
His pride? His ego? His honor? It was all crushed by the all-encompassing thrill of his prostate getting teased, of his burning hole being satisfied.
“You are weak. You cannot resist.”
He was beyond the limits. All the pain, all the restrictions… All the torment. He was through with it, and the pleasure he was given was the balm he desperately needed.
The callous on his fingers, the clipped parts, the sacrificed Charrhood, the humiliating display, the violence. Here? In that moment, he was lust.
No discipline, no resilience, no Charr honor. Only him, the Commander. And what he loved.
What he desired… What he’d been denied for so long: from Rytlock, from other males, from the Dominion… From himself.
As he leaned his head against the pillar, the Commander shuddered and…. There was one shot. Intense, hot, scalding against the beam. It was steamy, it was warm, it was smelly.
But as he looked down, he could only see his own cumshot, his cum dripping against the beam while hearing the moans from Rytlock. And felt… His balls were still heavy and needy.
So, he pumped his fingers again, faster than before, pushing through the refractory period to get what he desired. And he observed.
Like a Peeping Tom, he watched Ryland stroking his sire. Observed Rytlock huffing and groaning, holding onto the barrel while his spread legs were about to collapse. But the shard was definitely inside… And something was happening.
Rytlock looked sick.
The scent of cold sweat invaded the Commander’s nose. The old Tribune’s eyes rolled. His breathing stopped with regular gasps, and his fingers twitched on the edge of the barrel. His tail stuck between his legs as his voice went higher.
“Ryland… It’s… It’s too much,” he groaned.
“Then… It’s good,” said Ryland, leaning forward to kiss his Sire, to force his tongue inside Rytlock’s mouth. It was getting more intense, more raw, more brutal.
The sound of the pads rubbing against Rytlock’s spine-covered cock was delicious to hear, as much as the weak suction from the Commander’s asshole.
Then… As Rytlock’s lips curled at the edge, something… Something happened.
He came, he ejaculated, he roared. But the cumshot was different than usual… It was very different as the liquid had that blue glow.
It was blue. It was not cum. It was not steamy, and it was not smelling as much. It was cold, blue, practically like water. Or like the liquid found in the refinery.
Yet, it was from Rytlock’s cock.
Whereas Rytlock might have been cumming three or four times at best, on good days, he was continuously cumming. He was groaning, roaring. He even snarled between the kisses. But the cumshots wouldn’t stop.
Ryland wouldn’t stop stroking, purring, and coating his fingers with that substance.
“That’s it. That’s what you’ll produce, Sire. How was your last cumshot? … Did you like me fixing those testicles?” asked Ryland, though his eyes darted a second towards the Commander.
Commander, whose fingers were pumping faster and faster, was listening to the deviant words from Ryland. Listening to his demeaning disdain as the Charr licked his lips and… Showed his teeth.
“Some more ice inside… And they’re gone. Devoured from within. So easily, without a single issue. Now… They can only produce the finest fuel for our machines,” cruelly said Ryland.
And… The Commander kept pumping, kept hitting his prostate, kept approaching his orgasm.
“And it’s in everyone. Even your dear Commander, Runtlock. How does it feel?” asked Ryland, his voice mocking as he finally let go of the shaft of the gasping and huffing Rytlock.
“You’re… You’re a bastard. Nothing… More to say.”
“Really? You were not saying the same when I pumped your ass. You begged for more.”
The harsh whisper that followed was too low for the Commander to pick up. But he noticed Ryland going for another kiss, pressing his cock against Rytlock’s cock. And then… As Rytlock was forcefully bent over… The former Tribune mewled weakly.
So mewled the Commander as he couldn’t resist, as he pressed against his prostate and forced another orgasm out of himself.
He coaxed just a little more, only a cumshot this time… But that was enough as he ended up snarling and gasping against the pillar.
His whole body shuddered from the aftermath, his feet digging into the ground as he listened… And heard Rytlock being impaled. Being fucked, being stuffed by his own Son.
“That’s it, Runtlock. Beg I fuck you again… beg more,” said Ryland, his voice full of spite and anger. With disregard for Rytlock’s well-being, for how the old Tribune endured and took the dick.
How the Revenant, so prominent during the Commander’s formative years, was now getting stuffed while in his armor.
There was little to say. Little to add, little to remark.
Little… To add. What could he say? Worse? What could Rytlock say if he saw the Commander masturbate to his Son fucking him? How would the old Tribune react if the Commander came closer? Would he accept it? No. He was too prideful and stubborn.
But watching this, watching how… Rytlock was getting bent over and used. There was… Something. The Commander couldn’t pinpoint it. He couldn’t exactly… Tell. Maybe a change in how he perceived him?
Assuredly.
Even then, it took some effort for the Commander to stay there, not to move… Only to hear the regular orgasms, to hear Rytlock coughing and begging weakly. To hear him getting stuffed before Ryland was done and pulled out.
“Put the armor aside. I’ll clean it for next time,” said Ryland, though his eyes were not on Rytlock, still bending over. No, they were for the Commander. “You can leave.”
It wasn’t for Rytlock.
It was for him. For the old Charr that turned on his paws and turned his back to his… To the one he’d been fancying before. To his friend, still mewling and cumming.
He turned his back as he returned to the entrance of the lab. The Guard nodded, escorting him back to the room before he was to return to the piles of Charrs sleeping and shuddering in the cold.
This time, he wasn’t excited. He wasn’t desperate. His ass wasn’t itching, even when he heard Efram moving and grunting. “Where were you?”
“Taking a leak,” explained the Commander, lying behind Efram… Seeing the back of the Flame Legion Imperator covered with lash marks… And seeing that hand between his legs, exploring his ass…
For a moment, the Commander thought about adding something, about commenting on it.
Instead, he shook his head and merely curled up, going to sleep.
He closed his eyes and waited for sleep to take him, only for a gruff Charr to walk behind and then install himself behind the Commander, like the big spoon.
Sure enough, the Commander feigned sleep… But he felt it. He felt Rytlock’s cock against his posterior, felt those balls pressed against his buttcheeks…
Then he had it. He opened his eyes and moaned voluntarily.
“Don’t speak about it. I know you’re excited,” said Rytlock, his voice low.
Yes. He definitely was. But as he felt Rytlock’s cock brushing his asshole, he felt that lukewarm shaft press against his entrance. It was different.
Less pleasant. Less exciting. Yet… the Commander moaned, simulated. It was all fake, down to the heightened groan.
But it was there, and the Commander felt it. Rytlock’s cumshot. Cold, watery. Pathetic.
“He isn’t a real stud.”